Set Free To Fly
by ColieMacKenzie
Summary: All it takes. His hands. Post 5x03. Lose sequel to my episode follow-up "Silent Lucidity," but effectively stands on its own.


**Set Free To Fly**

**AN:** Post 5x03. Can loosely be considered a sequel to my episode follow-up "Silent Lucidity," but effectively stands on its own. (Repost)

* * *

A handshake.

That's what she's been reduced to. What he's done to her. Just the tease of his fingertips across the delicate inside of her wrist, the grasp of his hand wrapped around hers, his strong fingers, warm, so thick and the flare of anticipation burns brightly, her body flushed, humming with need.

Just his touch and she is boneless, quivery, blood rushing in her ears.

All it takes.

His hands.

The devastating feel of his hands.

* * *

He strokes his fingertips across her temple, over the strong sweep of her cheekbone, her jaw, her skin so smooth against the pads of his fingers and her eyes flutter closed on a soft sigh, her face leaning into him.

Sliding a hand underneath her shirt, he curves his palm around her waist, eager to feel the heat of her skin and she shivers with it, her breath in gusts, breaking over his mouth.

Her lips caress his, warm and soft, so achingly tender that his heart bursts in his chest, spreading flares of warmth through his blood. Her tongue a wet slide across his lips and he opens to her, meeting her in a slow, adoring tangle. He wraps his arms around her and she feels delicate within the circle of his embrace, belying the sheer strength and power she possesses.

For him she is this, too, this gentle, affectionate woman who cares for him, worries about him, shares her secrets, her smiles, the warmth and comfort of her touch. For him she scales walls, opens herself, and he wants nothing more than to worship her like she's never been worshipped before.

* * *

She arches off the mattress, her spine bowed, desperately seeking the fiery trail of his fingertips as he maps the curved path of her ribs. He brackets his wide palms around her waist, almost spanning her from side to side as he scoots her further onto the middle of the bed, and her head sinks into the cloudy pillow, her body weightless, almost floating with the languid flow of desire.

He hooks his fingers around the edges of her panties, slowly tugs them off her hips, the pads of his fingers caressing the length of her legs on his path down to her ankles. Her thighs fall open instinctively as she lies sprawled over his sinfully comfortable mattress, arms flung up, naked, limp from the fever of his eyes roaming over her.

How is she completely bare when he is still wearing most of his clothes, when she came over tonight to offer _him_ comfort, to be his shoulder, his partner, to be there in the morning when for the first time, his daughter won't but it doesn't matter, nothing matters but his unhurried, concentrated travels across the landscape of her skin.

She wants to give him what he needs; he can have her.

He has her.

* * *

He runs his hands back up the smooth expanse of her legs, lingers at the curve behind her knees, circling his fingertips across the tender patch of skin and her muscles tense; mewling sounds escape her lips as she squirms under his touch.

There is nothing, _nothing _that isas magnificent as watching Kate Beckett come undone under the relentless pursuit of his hands. Her body so responsive, skin sensitive to the softest of his caresses, willing and open as she entrusts him with her body, her pleasure, all of her _self_.

It's a privilege he intends to honor every chance he gets.

His hands travel higher, his nails a teasing scratch over her skin, immediately soothed by the heat of his palms that follow the path. He purposely circumvents the apex of her thighs, finds the hills of her hipbones instead, circling his thumbs over the sharp structure of her frame. Her hips rise in answer, her body inexorably seeking more, more.

He dances his thumbs down the slope of her abdomen, twirls around her navel, a ballet of soft touches across the stretch of sensitive skin and her pelvis surges up, her legs widening in silent, urgent welcome but he moves up instead, slides his fingers over the strong bones of her ribcage.

She whimpers, half his name on her tongue, an almost frustrated plea but not yet, Kate, not yet.

Her arms beckon him next and he teases the tip of his index finger across the fine skin inside her wrist, where her nerves are so sensitive that she hisses, shivers in answer, needy and aroused. He scratches a nail across her palm and her fingers snap closed around him, trapping his digit.

She blinks her eyes open, pupils cloudy with desire when she finds his gaze and he can't help but smile at her, the alluring picture that she makes, tousled and wanton, so very gorgeous and lovely.

So loving.

* * *

She feels the answering smile stretch across her cheeks, responding instantly to the desire, the complete awe that shines in his eyes. His love for her, bright, all-encompassing and a rush of heat surges through her body, flushes her cheeks, curls low and wanton in her belly.

She curls her fingers into his, caressing its length before she lets him go, once more giving herself completely to the powerful, heated ministrations of his hands.

She knew he'd do this to her, would have this power over her once she let go, let him in; before they ever started she could feel that he'd be the one to break down all her defenses, leave her open, vulnerable, quivering with need. It scared her at first, still does sometimes but she can't help it, doesn't want to. Not when she is filled to the brim with his admiration for her, his trust, his love.

He runs his hands up her arms, quickly heating the skin that had cooled as she lay naked on his bed, lingering in the dip of her elbow where her skin is so responsive and sparks burst through her blood, her back arching in response. His eyes darken, stark blue with desire, so she does it again, bows her chest toward him, more deliberate, beckoning the blistering, merciless caress of his hands.

* * *

She is so incredibly beautiful. Her skin smooth like silk, her shape like art, flowing in long lines and soft hills across his bed. She arches for him, deliriously seeking the touch of his fingers and it's the sexiest, most alluring thing he's ever seen.

He swipes his fingers along her collarbones in long teasing lines and she claws her fingers into the sheets, her body jittery, legs moving restlessly against the comforter and he loves how he knows her now, understands her silent pleas that urge him to move.

He smooths his palms over the mounds of her shoulders, joins them on top of her ribcage where he can feel the thunderous leap of her heartbeat underneath the heat of her skin. He worships that moment, every time, the steady, excited beat against her ribs that's still there, still strong.

Alive.

* * *

She is burning, her heels dug into the mattress, about to fly out of her skin if he doesn't just move, _move_, at once delirious, desperate for his touch after the achingly slow climb. His hands move lower then, finally, _finally_ slide down over the soft slopes, his palms grazing, circling the raised peaks and her skin comes alive under the fire of his touch, frissons with pleasure. A ruthless surge of desire, pooling low, her body weeping for him as he teases, touches, plays her relentlessly.

She grabs for the edges of his shirt, makes quick work of the buttons, desperate to feel the heat of his skin, pressing her palms over his pectorals and he stops for a moment, helps by shrugging the shirt off his shoulders and arms, throwing it behind him before his large, talented hands cradle her once more, circle a fiery pattern round and round and her insides quiver, muscles jolt in pleasure.

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders she nudges him down, needing to feel the heavy, welcome weight of his body covering her and he sinks over her, cradling her underneath him.

And then his fingers sneak low, track a knowing path across her abdomen, unerringly find her, his thumb hot on her, so very talented, his fingers inside, thick as he fills her, curls, presses, a gentle, persistent pursuit that leaves her trembling, blood flooding with heat.

A slow climb, so intense and there is nothing quite like this, the closeness of his touch within her, around her, sure and talented, the unerring rise and swell of her body until there's no beginning and no end, until she breaks apart around him, muscles clenched, bright flares of light blinding against her eyelids.

All it takes.

His hands.


End file.
